Aphrodite
by chezzababyx
Summary: L.A. teen Massie Block lands the job of a lifetime, winning herself an all-expenses-paid trip to Paris. It is there that she hopes to discover more about who she is, and the cold hard facts of life. AU.
1. summary,

**aphrodite**

School is out. The sun is in the sky, and the days are long and warm. Los Angeles teenager Massie Block has just been handed the summer job of a lifetime – an all-expenses-paid trip to Paris, where she will play companion to the world's most famous pop princess – and she's about to learn a million different lessons she'd never learn in school. Life is too short to put other people first; sometimes the people you trust most can hurt you easiest; and, the most important moments in life can't be planned, or planned for...

this is an **au** story.  
The characters of this story were originally created by **Lisi Harrison, **author of the 'Clique' series. I do not claim ownership of them, and am not affiliated with Ms. Block in an way.


	2. 00,

**prologue **gilded cage

* * *

A million stars shone brightly against a dark blue, velvet sky. It was the perfect backdrop for the busy Avenue des Champs-Élysées as it made its transition from day to night. As the moon rose higher in the early evening sky, the tourists and families that ruled the street during the day began to disappear. The locals ruled the street now. Claire Lyons watched wistfully, her body leant against the wrought iron railing of her private balcony. Girls not much older than she walked the street arm-in-arm, stable and graceful even on their sky-high heels.

Her heart twanged, as it often did, to see such scenes of friendship and freedom. _Would my life be as carefree as theirs, _Claire wondered, _if I'd never become a musician? _

A passing group of boys hollered at the girls appreciatively; in turn, the girls giggled at their rambunctiousness. The sound drifted upwards on the air, along with the delicious scents billowing from a nearby restaurant. _Could I ever be like them? _

"Clarry?"

Claire kept her sad, blue eyes trained on the street beneath her. "Aunt Gregory."

"What are you doing out there?"Millicent Gregory crossed Claire's bedroom but paused at the open French doors, not daring to step out onto the little balcony. In the short time that the Lyons and their entourage had been in Paris, Claire had commandeered this small outpost and turned it into a sanctuary.

Orchids – Claire's favorite flowers – bloomed amongst the pre-existing gardens; her favorite Jo Malone candles were burnt around the clock so that Claire could always take comfort in their scent, and Claire's favorite Anthropologie throw cushions were scattered along the many low-slung patio chaises.

"I'm admiring the beauty of Paris," Claire replied, pulling her kimono dressing gown tighter around her waist.

Millicent's brow furrowed deeply. "I see."

Claire sighed, finally turning away from the street scene that played out beneath her. "Well?" she murmured, allowing herself a cursory glance at her Aunt Gregory's face. It was deeply lined; creased by age and worry.

Millicent followed Claire as she made a beeline for her dresser, her hawkish eyes clouded with doubt. "I made mention of your request during the meeting."

"What did they say?" Claire asked, both impatient and miserable, as she rummaged through her drawers. She selected a pair of dark jeans and a crisp white shirt and shimmied into both quickly, not bothering to pick up her dressing gown after it dropped to the floor. She'd had a wretched day, which was certain to become worse: tonight, she would have to sit through business discussion over salad (no dressing) at a noisy, over-priced over-crowded restaurant _du jour_.

Millicent averted her eyes as Claire slipped into her jeans. Her eyes lingered on the pool of silk that rested on the thick cream carpet, but she stopped herself from chastising her young niece. Instead, she turned her attention to helping Claire dress. "Here," she said, lifting a pair of platform snakeskin sandals from their bright red shoebox. They had had been sent from a designer earlier in the day; the latest style, with a wait list of at _least _seven months. "These."

Claire took them with uttered thanks and perched on the end of the king-sized bed to fasten them. Though she'd only received them today, Claire was already sure she hated these shoes. They took a long time to fasten, and were fiddly and impractical. She considered arguing with her Aunt's choice, but that would only mean more time spent dressing for a dinner she was less than eager to attend. When done, she stood, and threw her hands up with a sigh of frustration. "You're delaying. They must have said no."

"On the contrary," Millicent insisted. She spared Claire a final look and, pleased with her appearance, maneuvered her from the bedroom. "They said yes."

A beauteous grin spread across Claire's face, illuminating her skin as though it were the finest faceted diamond. "Yes?" she repeated, breathy. In a rare show of obedience, Claire allowed herself to be shepherded from the bedroom to the foyer. "But how will they choose?"

"It's already been decided," Millicent assured her young charge, glad for her suddenly compliant nature. "You needn't worry about a thing."

* * *

any initial thoughts? i'd love to hear them!


	3. 01,

_Before I begin, I want to thank everyone for all the positive feedback I've gotten so far. I'm excited to start this new story! This does not, however, mean that I'm going to put any other stories on the "back burner". I write at a different pace, depending on how I feel about each story at the time. Let me say now that Little Blue Book is going to get just as much attention as it was before, if not more. __Those who expressed concern about me "disappearing" are certainly much loved. Don't worry, I've not died! I'm very much fine, but I just came out of finals; just finished my first year of university, I've just turned eighteen, and I've had a lot of stress and worry over school work and exams. _

_For those who have been asking, Claire's music (in this story, at least) sounds a lot like Metric, meets the 'Aphrodite' album by Kylie Minogue, meets The Clash at Demonhead from 'Scott Pilgrim'. It's a little bit electro and a little bit pop, with just a hint of rock. Her songs have a lot of heavy beats, great vocals, and a feel good vibe. I definitely recommend you give both artists a listen, because it will help you get a feel for the story._

_This story, like all my stories, has a cast, but I've been too lazy to post it on my profile. It will be posted before the next chapter, so if you're at all interested in seeing what these characters look like in my crazy little head, then that's worth a peek. _

_xoxo, Cheryl. _

**one **serendipity

Massie Block stood in the main hall of Octavian Day School, a cardboard box perched on her hip. It overflowed with binders and photos from her locker – items that she'd removed in preparation for the summer. Massie ignored the deafening hum of noise around her, and the crush of students, and kept her eyes focused on the inside of her barren locker.

_I'm going to savour this moment_, she told herself. _Sophomore year is over. Summer has begun. _

She closed her hand around the last item; the final piece of 'her' that had marked this metal box as her territory; and clutched it tightly in her hands. Even as she spared it a cursory glance, she felt overcome with nostalgia.

It was a photograph, tattered and worn around the edges and awash with garish, bright colors. A younger Massie smiled brightly from beneath the glossy finish, her green sweater the color of Essie Candy Apple nail polish. Young Massie had her arm slung around her best friend, Alicia; light and dark, night and day. Alicia pouted lovingly for the camera, her hands on her hips, her shorts a little _too _short for a girl so young.

It had been taken only a few summers ago, during the best summer of Massie's young life.

That summer, like every other summer, had been spent in shopping malls and beaches; in lavish Beverly Hills homes where teens had gotten drunk and loud and rowdy to the beat of muggy, Top Forty hip-hop music. The only thing that differentiated those few months from any other was Derrick. They'd bumped into each other – literally – on the pier. Massie had gazed up at him, and met his deep chocolate eyes, and barely been able to whisper her apologies. She'd fallen in love on first sight.

Of course, this year would be different than its predecessors, Massie thought sadly. She dropped the Polaroid into the box with a sigh. Alicia had won a prestigious journalism internship in New York and wouldn't return to L.A. until September. It was Alicia's belief that such an opportunity was just was she needed to launch her career. Massie, not knowing any better, agreed.

Derrick was chasing his dreams, too. He'd taken a summer job at his father's law firm, hoping that it would help him get into Yale. Massie was proud, and made every effort to be supportive, but the sudden abandonment she faced by both her best friend _and _her boyfriend sucked. She was the loser. The days of summer stretched out before her, long and unfulfilled.

"Let's bid the year a fond farewell with a hot new track from Claire Lyons!"

Massie glanced upwards, towards one of several speakers lining the rich navy walls – part of an intricate new P.A. system which had been installed early in the semester. It wasn't the shiny new technology that had caught her attention, but the voice that chirped brightly from it.

_That's _definitely_ not Alicia. _

_Did Alicia say something about missing announcements this afternoon? _Massie wracked her brain, but couldn't remember any mention of Alicia being absent for the afternoon announcements. She pulled the lid of her bright pink box from its resting place inside an otherwise empty locker and placed it neatly atop her belongings.

With a single step back, Massie slipped into a crowd of girls headed for the grand entrance, and let their momentum push her forward. Her eyes fell as she pulled her Blackberry from the pocket of her Textile jeans and sent Alicia a text.

**what's with dj s'berry? **

Alicia's reply came just as Massie reached the overfull car park. She risked a glance at her phone, pausing long enough for those behind her to become impatient.

**something came up, talk soon. xoxo.**

"What the fuck?" Massie hissed under her breath as she read the tiny, pixelated font. It wasn't like Alicia to be so vague. Massie let the crowd push her forward again, and began to draft a response. As soon as it was finished, she felt guilty for prying and deleted it. Obviously, Alicia wanted some privacy, and Massie wanted to respect her best friend's wishes.

There was still the question of what to do with her afternoon, Massie reflected, trekking across the car park. She came to a stop beside her Range Rover and began to fish through the black whole of her unstructured Mulberry hobo, searching for her eternally elusive keys.

_Would Derrick be busy? _she wondered. The private, all-boys school he attended – Briarwood - was only a few blocks away. The schools were considered to be brother and sister schools, but were run under different systems. On any other day, Briarwood would let out before Octavian; today, Massie had finished an hour early.

She thought about Derrick's chocolate brown eyes and bright, white smile. How long had it been since they'd spent the afternoon together, just the two of them, cuddling on his couch and watching lame boy movies? Or meeting at their favourite Japanese place for salmon rolls, green tea, and sweet teriyaki? Too long, Massie decided, unlocking her car.

* * *

"Hey, D," Massie sighed, holding her phone to her ear with her left hand. With the other, she flipped the indicator and changed lanes deftly, preparing to turn in to Briarwood's main car park. "I tried calling you before. Obviously, you have your phone off... Um, okay. Call me when you get this. Love you."

She threw her phone to the side. It landed on the passenger seat, its screen still brightly illuminated.

_Visitor's Car Park, _read a nearby sign. An arrow was painted on it, indicating that Massie should turn left. She did so slowly and let the Range Rover creep along, her amber eyes seeking out a vacant space to park. Claire Lyons' voice warbled an infectious pop tune from the radio, and Massie sang along under her breath.

"_Da-da-da, da-dum - " _she hummed. "Oh! Free space!"

She pulled into the space and turned the engine off. As she did so, she realised that the space she'd chosen was at the absolute end of the car park and a good distance from the front building.

_Should I just find another one? _Massie wondered. She glanced up, intending to calculate the distance between her current location and the main building where Derrick would, presumably, be located. The black suede Steve Madden wedges she wore were adorable, but vastly impractical, and not designed for walking great distances.

As soon as Massie looked up, she saw Derrick's face staring back at her. His eyes were wide with surprise and – was that panic? Massie lifted her hand to wave at him and pressed her fingers to her palm lamely, her smile faltering. _He looks shocked to see me. I shouldn't have come. I look _clingy_._

Derrick's car door flew open and he dove from the Hummer's driver seat, just as Massie noticed that the passenger seat was occupied.

Alicia's eyes were wide with surprise. She lifted her hand to return Massie's wave.

* * *

_As usual, all questions are welcomed!_


	4. 02

**- EDIT: **If you would like to see how I envisage these characters, my cast is posted (not with pictures, mind, but we'll get to that soon...) on my profile. Feel free to look, and let me know what you think. Do they match the way you imagined the characters? Also, deep thanks to everyone who reviewed! Love you all for all of the kind things you say! 3

* * *

**two **internalisation

It would take Massie no more than ten minutes to walk from Briarwood to her father's Beverly Hills villa - even if she were wearing her highest stilettos and her tightest Dita von Teese-style silk skirt. That timelime was irrelevant, however, because Massie would _never_ walk to or from school; nor would any of her peers, given a choice. And most of them were able to choose.

It took half an hour for Massie to reach her home, despite her erratic bob-and-weave style of driving and her determination to speed through every yellow light in her path. Her phone vibrated, beeped and sang mechanically every five minutes, heralding the arrival of numerous messages. Apologies, she hoped, and explanations for what she'd seen.

But what _had _she seen? So Derrick and Alicia had snuck away from school early, lied to her about where they would be (and with whom) and worn matching looks of surprise and guilt when they'd met her eyes. So what? Did that _really_ mean that they were sneaking around behind her back?

Her Range Rover rolled to a stop in front of the wrought iron gate that seperated Wainwright Villas - a paradise of nearly-identical villas lined up, one after the other - from the crush and noise of Los Angeles. "Massie Block," she said to the twenty-four hour guard, leaning out of the window. She fussed with her quilted Chanel wallet; struggled to slip her I.D. from the clear panel that held it.

"I wouldn't worry about that," the guard told her. "I've been working here for a year, Miss Block... I think I know who you are by now."

Massie's lips spread in a thin grimace. How could you ever really know someone - let alone after one measly year? She'd known Alicia longer than she'd known how to curl her hair, but that hadn't prepared her for the betrayal she'd been subjected to... "Thanks, Ron," she murmured, and drove through the slowly opening gates.

Her father wasn't home. His Prius was missing from it's usual place in front of the two-car garage. Massie parked hers under cover, lowered the garage door, and paused for a moment. She used the time to steel herself, and then spared a glance at her phone's LCD display.

**Massie! You're not answering your phone mass. Come back, I'll explain what's happening. **That was Derrick's first message. It wasn't terribly apologetic, and hinted at some reasonable explaination for why her best friend and boyfriend were creeping behind her back. He'd left several others - twelve, in fact, which were all variations on the same theme - and four voice messages.

Alicia had left two: **hey, you just disappeared, lol. x**,and, **whatever. derrick told me about all the arguments you guys have been having lately- if you don't take care of your man, then someone else is going to. **Massie's amber eyes welled with tears. She took ten calming breaths, before taking the Blackberry clutched tightly in her hands and hurling it at the nearest white-washed, wood-panelled wall. _Take care of your man? _What did that even mean? Massie wasn't exactly a porn star in the bedroom, but she'd helped Derrick with his English homework, cooked for him and his father when his mother was out of town, _and _picked up his dry-cleaning on a number of occasions. Surely all of those incidents were considerably more important that a blow job, or sex, or whatever Alicia had shared with _her man_?

"Bitch," Massie hissed darkly, slipping through the sliding door and into the entryway. She made her way along the hallway, the clicking of her shoes echoing off of the mushroom-colored walls. Instinctively, she paused by the open doorway of her father's office. It was a masculine room, full of mahogany wood and leather-bound books, and her father's collection of vintage cameras. It was the one room in the villa that had always intimidated her.

"Dad?" Massie called, hesitant.

A minute passed without reply before Massie felt it was safe to pass by the door and continue along the hall towards the kitchen. It wasn't that Massie didn't love her father. Massie didn't really know her father well enough to like or dislike him, and the thought of sitting through a half-hour interview with him - about _why_ she was upset, and _why _she had felt the need to throw her phone against the wall, breaking it into hundreds of small pieces - made her feel even more physically afflicted than she already did.

William Block was considered by many to be the greatest photo-journalist of his time. His journalistic works were contained in the archives of great and reputable publications like _National Geographic_ and _The New Yorker_. In fact, he had once been offered the illustrious position of _Time Magazine _Editor, but had turned it down - not because he wanted to spend more time with his young daughter, but because such a stable position would inhibit his ability to travel the world, speaking for the silent.

To put it simply: William Block could understand the suffering of all except his 'spoilt', melodramatic, privileged adolescent daughter.

The kitchen was sparkling and smelt of citrus, just as it always did. The pantry was empty but for bottles of Chianti and of whiskey, and a few packets of sliced almonds. The fridge was empty, too, except for the crisper which contained several nectarines and a jar of gourmet-style pesto. Neither discovery surprised Massie, because her father had been ordering in food every night for the past twelve years. The fridge was only stocked if Massie stocked it; the pantry only full if Massie did the shopping.

Massie let go of the door, and it closed itself as it was designed to do. A note, written on William Block's monogrammed 'WJB' one-hundred per cent recycled paper, had been sticky-taped to the sleek silver front of the power-efficient machine.

**M -  
**_**New York Magazine **_**commissioned a historical piece** **on New York's oldest families. I departed at 11am, and won't be home for two weeks. Call Kendra should problems arise.  
Best wishes, darling,  
- W**

She crumpled the note in her hand, and tossed it in the general direction of the garbage disposal. It landed on the granite bench top, completely missing it's mark. Massie wasn't her usual organised self today, it seemed. The pieces of her phone were still lying on the concrete floor of the garage, where they'd landed, because the thought of touching that heinous piece of machinery disgusted her.

Massie found a small container of gelato buried deep in the freezer (white chocolate and Frangelico, her favorite), and took it to her second-floor bedroom where she opened the French doors that led out onto the balcony, lit the clean cotton candle sitting on her bedside table, and fell backwards onto her overstuffed mattress.

Her hand stretched out of it's own accord, reaching for a battered and dog-eared copy of _Love in the Time of Cholera _(just one infinitesimal part of her twelfth birthday gift from William: second-hand copies of 'the classics', each with loving forewords penned by fathers and sisters and cousins and friends and lovers much more tender than any Massie had ever known). Massie flipped through it idly, but for once she found herself disillusioned with the way her life was panning out.

She wasn't an unhappy person. She never had been, and she'd assumed - once upon a time - that she never would be. Now, she found herself deeply unhappy.

Her one and only friend was a traitor and a giant bitch; her boyfriend, a manipulator and a liar (and how dare he try and lure her back with assertions like, 'it's not what it looks like' and 'I can explain'? Could he? Could he really? Or was he cooking up a semi-plausible story right now about how _Alicia_ was the liar/traitor/manipulator/all of the above, on the odd chance that she would pause to hear his pathetic excuses?). These were the cold hard facts of her life.

She was an average student - certainly not comparable to the ruthless Alicia or the dedicated Derrick - who excelled only in Creative Writing classes. Her father found her to be a hindrance. Clearly, she wasn't very adept at picking her Inner Circle of Trust.

Massie groaned loudly, tossed her book limp-wristedly towards the floor, and rolled over so that her face was pressed into a memory foam pillow. "I'm a failure!" she groaned, but her aspirations of lying face down, as she was at that moment, and crying into the Smart Tech hyper-dense foam of her pillow, were cut short.

"Mass?"

Massie's head flew up.

"Mass?" the voice repeated.

Massie pushed herself off of the bed and padded towards her open bedroom door. From the landing, she could see a head of perfectly tousled chestnut waves and the shoulders of a muted fuschia Karen Walker suit. "Kendra," she called back, eyebrow furrowed deeply. "Up here."

Kendra took a careful step back and looked upwards. "Oh! There you are! Sweetheart, I just came in through the garage and - " She held up a shard of greyish plastic, jagged at one end. "Accident with your phone?"

"Anger management issues."

"You've heard the expression 'don't shoot the messenger', haven't you? No wonder I couldn't reach you. Is something wrong?"

After taking one calculated step backwards, so that Kendra wouldn't notice her fuzzy unkempt hair or her rumpled shirt (provided that she hadn't already), Massie responded. "Nothing at all," she said breezily, as if it would convince her that there really _was _nothing wrong.

"Well, why don't you get changed and come downstairs? I have some important news to tell you."

* * *

Kendra Ryan was a Hollywood power broker. She forged iron-clad contracts, aligned project (be it movie, script, or endorsement) with artist, and struck fear into the hearts of heavyweights worldwide - all while wearing to-die-for shoes. She was also William Block's literary agent, and an old friend from Columbia. Kendra was the closest thing to a mother that Massie had ever known. Her own had passed away giving birth to her only child, leaving behind a broken husband and a doppelganger daughter. When Massie was faced with a problem, Kendra was usually - _usually, _but not always - the first person Massie contacted.

"So," Kendra said, tightening her death grip on her mug. "How was the last day of school?"

"Adequate. You said you wanted to talk about something?"

Kendra nodded. "How do you feel about Claire Lyons?"


	5. 03,

**three **advocation

Crink Records was a safe haven buried deep within downtown L.A., where people who didn't feel comfort in their day-to-day lives could find comfort in music. The month that Massie had gotten her driver's license, she had gone to Crink every afternoon straight after school and found comfort in mix booths, where she would listen to old classics like Jeff Buckley and new favorites like Temper Trap and Florence + the Machine.

That month, Massie and Alicia had been fighting. Massie had been in a magazine with her father. This had made Alicia terribly jealous, though she would never admit it to Massie. The article was commissioned because William Block had been named as one of the 'most intriguing people in Los Angeles';Massie had been included because William had hoped it would be a rare show of father/daughter bonding... It hadn't been. It had been the single worst experience of Massie's life. In fact, the interviewer had, at various intervals throughout the brief 'discussion', asked Massie how she felt about the death of her mother, famous French actress Ruby Tulienne – as if there were some simple, sound-bite, twenty-five-words-or-less answer that Massie could say, that would express all the loss and anger and sadness she felt.

During that lonely month the owner of Crink, Martin, had offered Massie a job. She hadn't hesitated to say 'yes'.

"I can't believe you'll be in Paris _all summer!_"

Layne Abeley was Massie's favorite co-worker and, secretly, Massie's only true fried (excluding Derrick and Alicia, of course). Layne didn't wear the right clothes like Alicia did, nor did she have a rich father like Derrick did, but she loved music like Massie did and she understood why Massie spent so much of her time downtown at concerts. Layne tangled her hands in her long black hair and began pulling it into a messy topknot.

"I can't either," Massie called back over the new Yves Klein Blue cd. Today it had been her turn to pick the store's playlist - and thank God. She wasn't in the mood for Parkway Drive, or whatever loud hardcore band Layne was into this week.

Layne pouted and dropped her hands from her hair to the pile of cd's she was sorting into alphabetical order for re-shelving. "But seriously...? I'm going to miss you so much. It was meant to be you and me this summer!" Layne turned her emerald green eyes on Massie, her features assembled into puppy dog frown. "I was going to take you to all the shows and introduce you to my friends - "

Massie bit her cheek in a concentrated effort _not _to reveal how glad she was. Thank God for Paris, or Doormat Massie would have agreed to Layne's plans and spent her summer suffering in silence. She'd already met a few of Layne's friends, who all seemed too abrupt and condescending for her liking. There was Stephen the Vegan, Pete-with-the-head-tattoo, and Ryan from the hardcore straight-edge Christian metal band - none of whom had taken much of a shine to Massie of the Designer Suede Pumps. Massie reciprocated in turn.

She turned back to the order form she was filling, diligently marking down costs and numbers. "I haven't told you the whole story, either," she said, dangling the bait.

Layne bit.

"You haven't?"

She dropped the several cd's she was holding aloft. They landed on the empty wooden rack with a loud, plastic clatter. Within seconds, she was leaning against the counter, her heavily-banged forehead practically pressed against Massie's.

Massie lifted her head slightly. "You have lipstick on your front teeth, Layne!" she laughed. "If you're going to wear lipstick, wear it with _panache, _darling!"

Layne flipped Massie the bird, and in turn Massie waited until Layne had rubbed away the red smudges.

"The weirdest part is that Kendra - you know Dad's friend, Kendra - ?"

Layne nodded.

"Kendra set it up for me."

Layne frowned. "She's in the Business... so it's a Business thing?"

"The secret is - and you can't tell..." Massie glanced up. The three customers milling about the store were all wearing headphones. "...but I'm working as a companion for a celebrity."

"Who?"

Massie hesitated. Would Layne make fun of her for spending her summer with some lame pop idol? "Claire Lyons," she whispered, and cleared her throat and leaned back against the counter, anticipating the backlash. Would Layne think less of her?

There was a momentary pause as Layne digested the information. Then, her eyes grew wide. "No shit?" she asked. Then: "Can you, like, get me her autograph?"

* * *

Massie finished her last shift half an hour early at Layne's insistence and headed home to pack in a rush. Her plane would leave at four-thirty the next morning and she still hadn't put aside a single garment in anticipation.

Back in her bedroom, she cranked her air conditioner to its frostiest setting and placed the latest Ministry of Sound Annual in the full-house sound system. Then, she began to sort through her wardrobe, pulling out denim cut-offs and thin, sheer button-downs, and innocent white mini-dresses. Every ten minutes or so, she would refer back to her Macbook, where several tabs of French street style blogs were open for guidance.

She was neatly rolling up a beat-up, fitted denim jacket (ambitious, she thought, but what if the weather were to turn cold while she were there?) and several light-weight summer scarves, when the sound system was silenced.

"What the fu - !" Massie hissed, spinning on one bare heel. _Surely_ the sound system hadn't broken down? It was _brand new_.

"Didn't mean to scare you."

Kendra stood in the doorway, a Borders bag in one hand and a fancy pearlescent bag in the other. The second bore no label, but it's very make suggested that it protected something beautiful and expensive. "But, I can make it up to you. I come bearing gifts."

Massie grinned, tossing the jacket into her Samsonite. "Now _that's _what I like to hear!"

Kendra sauntered through the room in a dignified manner – even more so for someone whose sling back platforms thwacked against her heels with every step. If Massie were asked to pick Kendra's most admirable trait, it would be her unshakable confidence; a confidence which Massie herself was sorely lacking.

"One's from you father," Kendra said, placing the Borders book on Massie's queen-sized bed, "and the other is from me."

"How exciting," Massie deadpanned, reaching for the Borders bag first. It was so typical for her father to bestow upon her book after book. She'd gotten books for Christmas, and for her birthday, and while she wasn't complaining it would be nice to get a pretty tennis bracelet or a new GHD every once in a while. "Let's see..."

She felt around in the bag, her hand catching the corner of a thick book, and pulled it out. "'An American in Paris'," she said, reading the title aloud. "'Live the Life You Deserve, and Become the Person You Dream of Being...'"

Kendra's perfectly threaded eyebrows raised in the slightest. "That's almost sweet... by your father's standards..."

"It is," Massie replied. It was.

"Open mine!"

Massie grinned at Kendra's excitement and snatched up the unopened bag, tipping it upside down rather unceremoniously. Two pairs of luxurious Elle McPherson Intimates sets spilled out, one glittery and midnight blue and the other fire-engine red silk.

"Not that I'm advocating," Kendra murmured, winking conspiratorially at Massie. "But I hear nothing heals a broken heart like a summer fling in the City of Love..."


End file.
